My name is called from the left, in Shannon’s lilting tone.
“Our newly elected first chair,” she says as my head reluctantly turns that way.
At least greeting strangers is better than being on a billboard.
Shannon’s standing beside a group of three, not a couple. There’s an older man, a young woman, and …
Lev.
My fingers slacken as my entire body goes numb with shock. I blink wildly—the one motion I seem to have any control over—convinced I’m hallucinating.
“Carina! Are you okay?”
Lola’s rushed to my side, now beneath me, dropping paper towels on the floor to clean up the mess. I already changed into a black dress. Distantly, I’m glad the fabric won’t show any tea stains and that mint is a pleasant scent.
“I’m fine,” I answer faintly. “Th-thanks.”
They’re walking this way, and Lev still hasn’t disappeared. He’s approaching, too, listening to whatever Shannon is saying while an elegant woman clings to his arm. He’s wearing a tuxedo that fits him perfectly.
“Are you all right, Carina?” Shannon asks, pausing a few feet away.
The concern in her voice sounds genuine, and I feel a little guilty for avoiding her.
“Yes. Thanks. I just—tripped.” My eyes don’t waver from Shannon’s face, even though the urge to look at him so sharp that it stabs my ribs with the force of a blade.
“I was just giving Mr. Lincoln a tour backstage. He made a very generous donation to the symphony. There would be a different program tonight if not for him.”
Itishim. I’m not going insane at least, but that’s little consolation.
Lev is here. In Chicago, at my job, and he didn’t tell me about either. He never replied to mythank youtext, which I took to mean was him redrawing a line I’d chosen to cross. Fine. But coming here without warning? With another woman? In public?
It stings like a slap to the face. Literally. My eyes burn with the effort of keeping tears at bay.
I knew he could be callous. But he’s never been cruel. Not to me at least. I’m not an idiot; I suspect what he spends the rest of his time in Chicago doing. Or I thought I did. Dating aspiring interior designers appears to be on the agenda too.
“Are you related to Abe?” Lola makes the same reference I did the first time I heard his alias, and it sparks some anger.
That was ten fucking years ago. There’s over a decade of history accumulated between us, and he didn’t have the decency to let me know he was coming to where I work.
“No.”
The single syllable is harsh. We all flinch in response to the cold delivery, including the overweight, white-haired man who must be the blonde’s father. There’s a mingling of apprehension and awe in his expression as he looks at Lev, which I take to mean he knows about his less charitable endeavors.
“Well”—Shannon’s voice is extra cheery, a clear attempt to cut through the awkwardness that lingers after Lev’s curt response—“I have one more room to show you before we return to your box.”
They’re staying for the performance, I realize. Which means Lev is staying for the performance.
He’ll see me play. He’s never seen me play.
“Good luck, ladies,” Shannon says to me and Lola with a smile before heading for the door.
Lev and the blonde—Audrey, I suddenly recall—immediately follow. Lev strides authoritatively. She wobbles in her stilettos, using him as a crutch. The man with them gives us a crisp nod, then departs too.
I remain motionless.
“Damn,” Lola drawls, watching them leave.
I glance at her. “What?”
